


Cake

by aello_np



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: #buildyourownship, #nocake, Episode Related, Episode s05eP07 Formalities, Episode: s02e10 Ellie, Episode: s03e22 Play With Fire, Other, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aello_np/pseuds/aello_np
Summary: Gil Grissom always thought there'd be no cake when he'd leave the CSI. How wrong he had been...
Relationships: Gil Grissom/?
Kudos: 4





	Cake

**Author's Note:**

> This... didn't exactly come out the way I plotted it in my mind. Somewhere along the way the story just took over and became a "DIY" kind of story. So, whatever ship floats your boat, feel free to add her/his/their name at the end of the story. I hope you'll enjoy this one.

With a frown, the grey-haired man looked around in the room that had been his office for several years. His eyes came to rest on the nameplate on the empty desk and for a brief moment, he wondered whether his decision was right. 

He hadn’t been asking for the promotion to be the supervisor of the night shift, there had been way too much administrative tasks to deal with. And he’d spend long hours in his lab doing paperwork instead of processing evidence, approved applications for leave, sat in long boring meetings with people from HR and had to deal with all kinds of things that had nothing to do with solving cases. He couldn’t help wondering whether he probably was just running away.

He remembered the conversation he’d had with Warrick in the breakroom some years ago.

*

_ He’d literally just returned from the seminar and headed into the office first thing. As he passed the break room, bag over his shoulder, the suit in a protective sleeve one hand and the plastic jar with the roaches in the other, Warrick called out for him.  _

_ “Hey Griss, how did it go?”  _

_ “The seminar was fine”, he gave back. “Every one of my roaches got stage fright,” he added, still slightly annoyed with the results. “They came in fourth, third, second and dead last.” Warrick sceptically eyed the jar in his hand. “How about you? How did you do?” He placed the jar with the roaches on the table. _

_ “Well the job’s fine, it’s the other stuff…” Warrick told him, hesitating for a brief moment before adding: “The personalities.” _

_ “I love mankind; it’s people I can’t stand,” Gil quoted, placing his suit on a chair and setting down his bag on the floor. _

_ “Was it Einstein?”  _

_ “Linus,” he corrected, amused at Warrick’s wrong guess.  _

_ “Charlie Brown,” Warrick snorted. “Figures. Is that why you put me in charge? You think I like dealing with people?” He looked him straight in the face, curious for the reply.  _

_ “Remember when you asked me what I was in High School?” Gil asked back, slowly sitting down on one of the chairs.  _

_ “Yeah, you said a ghost.” _

_ “When I leave CSI there won’t be any cake in the break room,” Gil explained. “I’ll just be gone. So I wanted to see if you could step in.“  _

_ Warrick nodded.  _

_ “Tell me,” he urged the younger man with an inviting gesture. “All of it. From the top.” _

_ “From the top?” Warrick wanted to know and with a sigh sat down next to him before he began to tell him. _

*

And there wasn’t a cake. Much to his surprise, Ecklie had respected his wish and hadn’t told anyone. No one had pestered him, and he’d moved out his books and the notes he wanted to keep already days ago. Time to go, he told himself and with a shrug, he picked up his briefcase. 

It was mid-morning, the night shift had cleared out, and the day shift was already in. People were busy with their tasks and no one bothered him as he sauntered down along the corridors one last time. He passed the lab that had been exploding and nearly cost Greg’s and Sara’s lives. Nothing was visible anymore, everything had been repaired, but he still vividly remembered everything. 

*

_ He’d checked in with Greg, asking him about the nail clippers they’d found in the suspect’s bathroom. Greg had told him some lame excuse that he’d already analysed the semen.  _

_ “The nail clippers can place Kenneth at the murder scene,” he’d explained. “His nails, her DNA, traces of the booth, et cetera.” _

_ “Killer, victim, location,” Greg listed, finally understanding why they not only needed to prove it was the suspect’s semen in the victim but also his nails at the crime scene. _

_ “Holy Trinity, Greg,” he said. “I need that.”  _

_ He’d left Greg’s lab, certain that Greg would do as requested and checked in with Nick, who promised to keep him posted, then headed to his office.  _

_ Then, the deafening blast. Fire. The stench of chemicals. Firemen, shouting at each other, broken glass on the floor. And Greg, severely wounded. Him, walking next to the stretcher on which the paramedics had laid him. _

*

It had taken a while, but Greg had recovered fully, fortunately. 

He passed the front desk and drew a deep breath as he opened the front door. The sun was shining, it was going to be another hot day. His gaze wandered to the first row of cars in the parking lot right in front of the entrance. And his mind drifted back to the evening when he’d showed up at a crime scene in a tuxedo.

*

_ The doors of the VIP elevator had already closed but opened again and in stepped she, casually greeting him with a brisk “Hey”. She was wearing a revealing red dress. She was tall and blond. And she’d caught him completely off guard.  _

_ “Hello,” he managed, letting his gaze wander down along her frame. “What floor do you want?” He’d asked in kind. _

_ “Where do you think I’m going?” she asked with a frown. _

_ “I wouldn’t know,” he gave back, feeling a little intimidated and wondering what he’d done wrong. _

_ “You don’t recognise me?” She wanted to know. _

_ He wrecked his brain, but to no avail. “Apparently not,” he finally admitted apologetically. She obviously knew him and just couldn’t place her. _

_ “In the lab, I usually wear my hair up,” she said and finally it dawned upon him. She was working day shift. He’d seen her in the parking lot. _

_ “Oh yeah,” he nodded, “you’re pulling in when I’m pulling out.” _

_ She smirked. “Sofia Curtis.” _

_ “CSI three, day shift. You work for Ecklie.” _

_ The elevator stopped and with a smile she said. “As of tonight, so do you.” _

*

He chuckled as he remembered her changing into a blue jumpsuit on the balcony because the bathroom hadn’t been cleared yet. 

He placed his briefcase on the passenger seat, then started the engine. A lot more memories came back to him on the way. Of people, cases and places he’d seen. He tried to shrug it off and when he opened the apartment door a little over half an hour later, the enticing smell of food and some soft classical music welcomed him. There was the smokey aroma of fried bacon. And something else, something sweet, which he couldn’t identify instantly. Probably pancakes, he thought. 

“Hey,” came a shout from the kitchen. “I almost thought you didn’t want to leave the lab.”

“Had to finish my last report, and deal with some stuff,” he shouted back and dropped his briefcase by the shoe rack. He toed off his shoes and slipped out of his jacket and taking a sniff of the bacon and something sweet aroma he had an epiphany.

Leaving the Las Vegas Crime lab hadn’t been running away. He’d been running away for way too long. This certainly didn’t feel like running from something. More like... coming home. And it was a home he’d returned to today. Not his. _ Theirs. _ They’d been looking for an apartment together. Went shopping for furniture and moved their belongings to this place. They’d carried crates and boxes half an afternoon some weeks ago and made love in between half-assembled shelves on an old woollen blanket. He could still feel warm skin against his palms and hear the soft moans echo in the not yet furnished living room as they slowly moved towards completion. They’d fallen asleep, lying together in each other’s arms, and woken up again when the sun was already setting. They’d been sticky with sweat and semen and hungry. So they hit the shower. And did it again. And instead of going out, they’d ordered in pizza.

A smile on his face and a warm feeling in his gut, Gil pulled off his socks and sauntered over to the kitchen. 

“Breakfast is almost done,” he was informed.

“It smells heavenly,” he said with an apologetic expression as he realised that he wasn’t the least bit hungry, but bone-tired. Walking out of the lab had lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders and he’d only noticed it now. He needed to get some rest.

A pair of vigilant eyes bore into him. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for something that’s on the menu.” His reply seemed to be right and the frown on his lover’s face disappeared, making room for a broad grin. 

“You know,” Gil said, slowly moving closer. “Why don’t you join me in the shower?” The memories from moving in and making love on the floor had woken his appetite. Not for food, but for a firm, warm body moving with his, gentle hands and that sweet mouth kissing him like there was no tomorrow. 

Two arms went around his middle, enveloping him in a warm hug. “Why should I?” Oh, playing the tease, Gil thought pleased. 

“So I can have  _ you _ for breakfast,” Gil mumbled against the tender skin of the neck. 

“And then?”

“Then I’ll probably need a nap,” he sighed, tightening his arms around his lover, who chuckled. 

“By the way, I made a cake for you.” A warm breath ghosted over his neck and Gil’s eyes followed the finger that pointed to a plate with a small, round chocolate-covered cake.

He looked at the chocolate cake, baffled. 

“Don’t you like cake?”

Still taking in the cake, he pondered the question. He’d been given a cake, he told himself, touched by the gesture, amazed that someone made the effort to bake a cake for him. Then he suddenly realised why he’d been convinced that there wouldn’t be cake when he’d leave the office. It had never just been about a cake. The cake represented all that he thought he’d never have. A home and someone to share it with. He’d been separating himself from company back then, from friends and potential lovers, telling himself that he didn’t need them. And here he was, years and lots of trials and errors later, realising that he’d been so wrong. 

“You know what?” 

“I’m certain you’ll tell me.”

“I love cake,” he said, leaning in to kiss his lover’s cheek. “And I think, I’ll have a piece, before I have you.”

_ Finis.  _


End file.
